


Loving Padawan Kenobi

by enbycupcake



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Illustrated, Multi, Padawan Obi-Wan, Trans Anakin, Trans Character, Trans Obi-Wan, Trans Padmé
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-11-08 01:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11071458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbycupcake/pseuds/enbycupcake
Summary: While trying to reclaim a stolen Jedi holocron, Obi-Wan is transformed into a younger version of himself. Master Kenobi is nowPadawan Kenobi, and he’s gotten it into his head that he and Anakin have a comfortable romance going on.Can Anakin and Padmé learn this freer and more emotional Obi-Wan? Can Obi-Wan succeed in making the married pair fall in love with him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first official posted WIP! A big thank you to [sappicpadmes](http://sapphicpadmes.tumblr.com/) and [jerseytigermoth](http://jerseytigermoth.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for encouraging me to post!
> 
> I had this idea for a de-aged Obi-Wan thinking he and Anakin were dating because of how clearly affectionate Anakin is a while ago on [tumblr](http://enbycupcake.tumblr.com/post/160631996672/au-where-obi-wan-is-de-aged-back-to-a-twenty-year). So, here we are. This chapter is Obi-Wan/Anakin heavily, but Padmé comes in next chapter!
> 
> The artwork is a crop of the poster I made for this, which you can find [here](http://enbycupcake.tumblr.com/post/161398832697/while-trying-to-reclaim-a-stolen-jedi-holocron)

The sound of an explosion stops his heart.

Obi-Wan was in the center of it, rushing after the thief, his Sith damned feet carrying him faster than any of their men could call out warning. All his thoughts were on retrieving the stupid holocron, and he had waltzed lightsaber first into a bomb.

Fear seizing him and mind screaming out along their bond, Anakin abandons the droids he was fighting to find Obi-Wan. He ignores the sounds of everything behind him, the collapsed ruins from the explosion all he can take in. Obi-Wan is under them. Obi-Wan is under them, not responding. His _mind_ is silent, the ever present flickering light embodying Obi-Wan in their bond not answering his desperate pleas for _anything_.

Anakin leaps up, the air around him crackling. He swallows down stale oxygen, and he flings his fear out from his fingertips; the stone and rubble fly out away from the impact site. The sound of it all crashing somewhere over his shoulder falls on unhearing ears, the continued clashing of ruin no longer touching him. Before him is all he can take in, vision tunneling and his fearful blood rushing through his veins.

Before him stands an unscathed Obi-Wan. An unscathed, _younger_ Obi-Wan, holocron in hand.

His feet are moving before Anakin can tell them to. He’s Force jumped to his friend and pulled him to his chest before he can even think to question it. Obi-Wan is thinner is his arms, a decade more of lightsaber training and the beginnings of middle age replaced with the smaller body of a young man. The silky hair that rubs against Anakin’s face during rare hugs is now shorter, slightly spiky hair that irritates his face. It’s strange, but still he keeps Obi-Wan in his hold.

 _Obi-Wan is alive_.

Tightening his arms before pulling away to look Obi-Wan in the face, Anakin sucks in a breath, his heart breaking. In Obi-Wan’s eyes is no recognition, the reason why Anakin heard nothing for his crying readily apparent. Obi-Wan doesn’t know him yet.

Awkward, incredibly awkward, Anakin steps away. He brings a hand up to scratch his head. “I’m Anakin. I’m so happy you’re alive.” Letting out a breath, Anakin brushes his mind tentatively against Obi-Wan’s, an apology. “I know you, obviously from the screaming in your head.”

“Yes, the screaming in my head; I don’t think I want a repeat performance. On that note, I suspect that since I no longer have such a bond with him, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan swallows, his bones suddenly weary and his eyes sad, “either has rescinded my apprenticeship with him or is dead.”

Anakin grabs Obi-Wan to him again, politeness be damned, sending condolences through their bond. “He died some time ago. You became a knight, and took me on as your apprentice. As I know you, you’re thirty-six.”

“ _Thirty-six?_ Ana–” He struggles against Anakin, who lets him go.

“Look to the Force; Obi-Wan, I’m telling you the truth.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. Anakin waits as he breathes in, testing intentions and reliability and listening to what the Force is telling him. When Obi-Wan meets him, Anakin gives a soft smile. Obi-Wan doesn’t return it, but he brushes against him in their bond, a quiet promise that he is believed.

“You don’t have a Padawan braid.”

Anakin pulls Obi-Wan’s own between his fingers, rubbing over his yellow bead. Obi-Wan is _so young_. “I was knighted not too long ago. We just never grew apart enough for our bond to dissolve.”

“Oh.” He watches as Anakin trails down to his next bead.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

Anakin grins. “So I’m older now. I’m twenty-one.”

Before Obi-Wan can respond, a signal flare behind Anakin catches his attention. Anakin sees its color reflecting off Obi-Wan’s eyes, and he lets the Padawan braid slip from his fingers. He gives Obi-Wan a grin.

“That’d be our men. They’ll be happy to know you survived the explosion.”

Obi-Wan shoots him a displeased look. “Our men?”

“Our troops. The 501st and the 212th. We’re in a war.”

Obi-Wan’s questions get drowned out as Anakin jumps back down to rejoin them. He doesn’t want to be the one to explain what’s happening; Obi-Wan, at least the one he knows, cares a bit more about the politics than Anakin does. All Anakin is sure of is the _war_ aspect; he leaves the politics to the politicians.

Stopping for a second, Anakin’s brain catches. Maybe they can slip to see Padmé before heading to the Temple. Anakin would much rather have her explain things to Obi-Wan than the Council. The Council is…not very forth coming, and he’s sure they’ll be even less now Obi-Wan is a Padawan instead of a Master and no longer a member. That, and she _needs_ to see this.

Mind made up, Anakin smiles at Obi-Wan following him back to camp, his grimace clear as day to see with no beard to hide his lips. It’s almost cute how different Obi-Wan looks. Almost; it’s still kind of weird, Anakin thinks.

The cleanup is standard; they won while Anakin was with Obi-Wan, and they didn’t lose too many men. The holocron is in their possession, even if the thief got away. Everyone receives it in stride that Obi-Wan was a good decade and some change younger, Cody taking it upon himself to pull Obi-Wan aside and brief him on how things are run and his role as general. Rex raises an eyebrow at Anakin, his shoulder jerking back to the explosion sight, and Anakin, stumbling, says that he just was overwhelmed with Obi-Wan being younger. The captain, thankfully, leaves his disappearing act at that. They _had_ won.

Later, on the ship, Obi-Wan corners him in his rooms. They hadn’t reunited after the battle, Cody probably helping Obi-Wan relearn the ways of the ship while Anakin had done the rounds in the medical wing – he made a point to visit anyone injured when he could; they had gotten hurt on his command, and reading it on flimsi in a report or being told was different than seeing his men in person. Anakin sits up on the bed and feels nerves flutter in his stomach, his friend’s gaze piercing. He didn’t even knock; Obi-Wan always had when he was older, even if he just barged in after. 

“You left me stranded with men I have no clue what to do with, Anakin.”

“Cody was with you the whole time, wasn’t he? He would drop for you in a heartbeat, surely you could sense that.”

Obi-Wan strides over, dropping onto the bed like it’s his. Anakin watches, fascinated, as he rolls onto his stomach to give him a glare.

“Having a man being willing to die for me is different from having to interact with said man and fellow _clone_ troops. Honestly, did I teach you nothing?”

That makes Anakin burst out laughing. “You taught me things like mediation is terribly boring.”

“I taught you nothing.”

Anakin blows him a raspberry. “You taught me how to think with my lightsaber.”

“I feel like I’m missing the joke because surely you aren’t implying what I think you are.”

“Recklessness and swing first, ask questions later? I had to get it from somewhere.”

Obi-Wan smiles, lazy warmth projecting over Anakin. Anakin sends affection back. It’s nice, the ease with which Obi-Wan uses the bond now. Not even really knowing him, Obi-Wan’s been more open through it like this than he has for a long, long time outside of combat. Smiling, pleasure curling in his gut, Anakin goes back to sketching on his datapad. He was in the middle of trying to work out how some of Padmé’s more elaborate styles come together before Obi-Wan came in; he hasn’t even come close to undoing them all, their visits together too sporadic and often too short for full undressing.

Time gets wonky when he’s focused, and when he looks back up again, Obi-Wan is right beside him. Contentment radiates off of him, his posture lax, an absent smile on his face while his eyes are closed. Anakin has never seen Obi-Wan this relaxed outside of sleep in all the years he’s known him; it’s almost scary as much as it is something he knows he’ll reimagine over and over, dreaming what it would look like on an older face with a beard.

Bringing a hand down to wind Obi-Wan’s braid between his fingers, Anakin tugs playfully. He gets halfheartedly swatted at, Obi-Wan’s eyes still closed.

“I was enjoying the tranquility of the moment.”

Rolling his eyes, Anakin gives another tug. “When’d you move?”

“Some time while you were scribbling hairdos. Your hair definitely is nowhere near long enough for any of those, Anakin.”

“They’re a senator’s. A friend of ours.”

“Friends with senators? Oh my, what am I doing in my old age?”

“You’re only just starting middle age, Obi-Wan. Thirty-six isn’t anything.”

Obi-Wan cracks open an eye. “Wise, are you?”

“Like Yoda.” Anakin immediately snorts after saying it; he isn’t near the Jedi Yoda is. “But we really do like this senator. She’s smart and kind, and she’s not corrupt. Very handy to have during aggressive negotiations.”

“Does this handy senator possess a name?”

“Padmé Amidala of Naboo. Before we meet with the Council, I want to introduce you.”

Obi-Wan closes his eye again and hums. He then guides Anakin’s hand to the hair on his head instead of his braid. Taking the hint, Anakin starts running his fingers through it, shooting Obi-Wan a bemused look. Obi-Wan has always been tactile, but before it was always in an absent, brother-in-arms way. A clap to Anakin’s shoulder, a guiding hand on his arm to send Anakin in the right direction, an arm slug around his back after drinks or celebrating with their men, a touch to his cheek when Anakin _needed_ grounding. Hugs were allowed after rough experiences and when Anakin got too excited to remember himself, but Anakin was pretty sure he initiated every single one once he hit adulthood. This, Obi-Wan asking to be touched, was new. Anakin wonders what age Obi-Wan stopped. What the Council must have said to him.

———-

The rumbling of Anakin’s stomach brings their lounge to an end. Unlike Obi-Wan, Anakin never ignores when his body tells him it needs food. He stretches and places his datapad onto his pillow while sending thoughts of the ship’s mess hall to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan hums at him. Playing dirty, Anakin throws images of cakes and tea. The terrible sweet tooth Obi-Wan has didn’t just spring up over night; Anakin knows it had to have developed when he was a youngling and that even now he has it.

He’s proven right when soft tendrils of temptation curl in the back of his mind, Obi-Wan’s light flickering. Smiling, Anakin bounces off of the bed, grabbing at one of the legs dangling towards the end of it. Obi-Wan grumbles as he opens his eyes, little things like he’s getting up and _really, Anakin?_ Gleeful, Anakin waits for him to fix his robes. Obi-Wan, however, doesn’t. He just starts walking towards the door, shooting Anakin a look when he doesn’t immediately follow.

Easily fixable disgruntled robes are different. Swallowing down the weirdness, the wrongness in the wrinkles, Anakin opens the door and guides Obi-Wan to the mess. Obi-Wan’s walk is lighter, Anakin notices as he questions their food supply, no war weariness pushing him down to the floor. His footstep are less careful, his strides not the walk of a general. It’s nice. A happy little smile overtakes his face, but he waves it off in their bond when Obi-Wan raises a curious eyebrow. Anakin sends thoughts of the joy he gets being with Obi-Wan.

He gets a funny little flutter back, Obi-Wan’s own lips forming into a pleased smile. Not understanding, Anakin presses further into Obi-Wan’s mind, curious. To his surprise, Obi-Wan’s shields easily fall away and let him in. There’s no first rebuff as Obi-Wan thinks about the consequences of letting him in. Anakin beams; Obi-Wan’s mind glows, golden, from it. It causes laughter, and Anakin settles himself inside Obi-Wan’s mind, letting himself soak up Obi-Wan’s unexpected pleasure from their bond. Obi-Wan likes him, Anakin picks up, the reason he initially came sliding into his thoughts.

Pleased beyond measure, his heart pounding in his chest, Anakin feels relief. It’s good to hear it plainly; it’s good to know that this young Obi-Wan shares that with his older counterpart and isn’t just tailing him because he’s there. Curling tighter with Obi-Wan’s mind, Anakin bumps shoulders with him. Obi-Wan nudges him along their bond as he heads forward into the mess.

Anakin bites his lip as he watches Obi-Wan take in their options. There’s disbelief, then understanding, and finally betrayal. Their choices are military standard; everything is sad tasting and built for performance.

“I distinctly remember you floating images of cake at me, Anakin. I’d hate to have to dismember your beautiful face.”

That’s a new way for Obi-Wan to taunt him; usually such terminology is reserved for enemies on the battlefield. “Relax. There’s a baking underground on board. All the companies have one.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Your sweet tooth is the catalyst, I’ll have you know, Obi-Wan. I handed your men sweets to give you since you never eat, and someone tried some. It was love at first bite.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Anakin raises an eyebrow. He stops the nearest man next to him – it’s Toggle – and asks, “Was General Kenobi and sweets the beginnings of the baking on board?”

“Yes, sir,” is the answer, Toggle looking from Anakin to Obi-Wan and back. 

“I _told_ you,” Anakin says as Toggle barely holds back his laughter at Obi-Wan’s betrayed face. “Thank you.”

“No problem, sir.”

Obi-Wan watches as Toggle walks away, and then he sends an annoyed nudge to Anakin through their bond. “So where are these baked goods?”

“If you’re good and eat your meal, I’ll show you.”

“I could just ask someone else. I’m sure they’ll tell me.”

Anakin glows in panic, showering Obi-Wan’s mind in light. “I could order them to not tell you. I won’t let you just live off sweets.”

“I thought I was in command of half of them, Anakin. And I’m not going to live off sweets.”

“You’re like half your age now. I’m sure there’s a clause somewhere that says you only have battle authority now or something. Also, I’m pretty sure you would. Sweets and ration bars.”

That gets an eyebrow raise. “Because this happens often enough that we’ve created rules? _Ration bars?_ ”

“They taste better than the food, believe it or not.” Horror crosses his face. “But you can’t live off them! You need to eat meals.”

Obi-Wan grabs Anakin’s arm and leads him to the food. “Fine. If it’ll get you to quiet down in my head.”

“That’ll do it.”

Anakin picks out both of their food; all Obi-Wan does is move his tray along when Anakin makes their way to the next serving. He fills Obi-Wan’s plates higher than he fills his own, commentary on the taste level of what he’s plopping onto Obi-Wan’s plate and it’s nutritional value to balance that out filling the air. The grimace stuck on Obi-Wan’s face is ignored as Anakin cheerily asks if Obi-Wan would like to stay in the mess to eat or return to one of their quarters.

Obi-Wan picks Anakin’s quarters; if Anakin is going to mother hen him he’d rather it be in private. Anakin merely laughs and says it’s nothing their men haven’t seen before.

Eating is done mostly in silence. Anakin watches as Obi-Wan eats, his handling of his silverware less elegant than before; he’s using Jedi table manners instead of a politician’s. Obi-Wan spears his protein and stuffs the whole forkful into his mouth, no little bites or cutting the big piece into smaller ones to make himself look more refined. As a Padawan in peace time, Obi-Wan hasn’t had to negotiate very much yet. His dining habits are of no consequence.

Obi-Wan, for his part, lets Anakin examine him. He’d merely quirked a brow and made a face at a particularly nasty tasting bite. He does, however, force it all down and folds his legs under him as he waits for Anakin to finish. It makes Anakin want to laugh and purposefully slow down his eating, but he doesn’t. He wants to see how much Obi-Wan’ll light up when he sees all the baked goods.

Taking one last bite, Anakin smiles at Obi-Wan. He gets an eager one in return, this time Obi-Wan hurrying him off the bed. Laughing, Anakin floats their dinnerware into his hands as he scrambles to get ahead; Obi-Wan doesn’t even know where to go. Anakin feels a swell of affection at how excited his friend is. Through their bond, Obi-Wan’s light is flickering quickly, happiness oozing from him.

Anakin stays watching him the whole time. Obi-Wan is less skilled in his negotiations to get more than the allotted amount of baked goods in one run, his conclusions and reasonings still as sharp as ever but his approach not as fine tuned, his focus to get what he wants still too much in the forefront. It draws a weirded out fondness from him and the men; Anakin meets Chef’s gaze and nods at him when they gesture at Obi-Wan debating on whether to get more sweet cakes or cookies, a secret smile in their eyes. Looping his arm through Obi-Wan’s, Anakin takes pity on him and picks up the cookies for himself to share later.

The blinding smile he gets in thanks sets off explosions in his heart and sadness to settle in his bones. Obi-Wan is so _carefree_ with his surface emotions. 

He lets Obi-Wan lead him back to his room, a wave to Chef and everyone else waiting for their fix. Anakin doesn’t understand the looks he’s getting, but he turns his focus back to Obi-Wan, seeing him unwrapping a cake to nibble on. The sight of Obi-Wan overstuffing his mouth is the most hilarious thing he thinks he’s seen in a really long time.

“It’s not going anywhere, Obi-Wan,” he says as he plops back onto his bed.

Obi-Wan follows him, his stash spilling onto the comforter and his body. “Yes, it is. My stomach.”

“All of it, right now?” He laughs. 

“Are we rationed on Coruscant?”

“The war’s not that badly affecting the core worlds yet.”

Obi-Wan shoves more cake into his mouth. “Then, yes. All of it but the cookies are going today.”

“The cookies are technically mine, you know.”

“But you’re going to give them to me.”

Anakin knocks his leg against Obi-Wan. “I shouldn’t just because you assumed I would.”

“Was I wrong?” Amusement curls between them.

Anakin feels a flush begin to bloom on his cheeks at so easily been called out. This Obi-Wan’s only really known for him like a day. “ _No,_ ” he mutters.

“I thought so.”

“Shut up.”

“Aren’t you eloquent.”

“ _Shut up._ ”

“Of course, Anakin,” he says before switching to a different sweet cake to eat.

Anakin pouts at Obi-Wan, but he pays him no heed. The overly saccharine sweet has all of his attention. Sulking, Anakin grabs his datapad, drawing his knees up. He looks over his earlier drawings of Padmé’s hair, his attempts nowhere near as impeccable as the real designs. Tracing his finger over a braid, a small smile grows on his face. He’s going to see her soon. He’s going to get to run his fingers through her hair, smell it when he buries his face against her, hopefully undo the delicate patterns and remove the ornate pins before helping to recreate it.

Switching to a blank document, Anakin settles himself more comfortably against his pillow. Words begin to spill from him, another unaddressed letter to Padmé that he wouldn’t dare send or hand his datapad over to her to read. His longing for her, his excitement to see her, his worry for Obi-Wan and his confusion about the way he reacts to this younger version, his amusement at how Obi-Wan’s sweet tooth is even worse make it onto the document, tumbling and jumping together as soon as Anakin thinks of them.

The more he writes the more he wishes that they were already on Coruscant, the bustle of the planet whispering in his ear. Sighing, Anakin drops his datapad. He shimmies down next to Obi-Wan and tries to steal a cake.

The ensuing petty fight lifts his mood considerably.

———-

His mood lasts him through the rest of the day. Anakin only slightly grudgingly goes through catching up on his general reports and starting the ones of Obi-Wan’s that Cody hasn’t taken on. He crosschecks everything and signs supply requests and transfers for other generals when he thinks it’s appropriate. His heart drops as he sees more shinies are due to come on, and he completes a form requesting time off for his men. Obi-Wan is probably going to be out of commission for at least as long as the healers can think of tests, and Anakin is going to do his best to be there for it all. He doesn’t like his men being led by anyone other than himself, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and sometimes Master Plo. That, and they deserve time to recuperate. They’ve been on the lines for a long stretch, and the stretches only get longer each time they’re sent out. 

By the end of what he can handle – Obi-Wan has a _lot_ of paperwork, and there’s things he nor Cody can touch as they aren’t Jedi Masters – Anakin feels accomplished. He smiles when he comes back to his quarters, Obi-Wan still lounging on his bed. The Padawan is resting on his stomach looking at a datapad, his braid held between his teeth in concentration. He looks so much like his older self, and yet nothing like him at all. 

Clearing his throat, Anakin leans down to take off his boots. Obi-Wan hums at him, and Anakin sees that he’s trying to finish whatever he’s reading before looking up. Rolling his eyes at Obi-Wan’s apparently always present dedication to a task set before him, Anakin continues to take off the rest of his clothes. It’s time for bed. 

He’s pulling his sleep pants on when the sound of the datapad being placed onto his nightstand brings his attention back to Obi-Wan. Who’s looking at him very intently, almost like he’s checking him out. Shaking his head, Anakin sits on the bed. It’s Obi-Wan; Anakin doesn’t know what he was doing, but he definitely wasn’t checking him out.

“How’s your reading been?”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes up to meet Anakin’s. “You’d probably find it boring. I’m trying to catch up on the war.”

“I would find that boring. But I’m sure you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I’m finding it…troubling. There’s something off about this war, but I don’t have enough of the information yet to figure it out.”

Anakin tugs on Obi-Wan’s braid. “There’s always something off about war.”

“I’m not talking about the morality of it. I’m talking about way it’s unfolding.”

“Well, if you figure it out, I want to know. The sooner we can end this war, the better.”

Obi-Wan sends him an exasperatedly fond look. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Good.” Anakin winds the braid between his fingers. “Now, did you eat all your sweets while I was gone?”

“I might have.”

“Obi-Wan.”

“I said I would, and I did.”

“Doesn’t your stomach _hurt_?”

That gets him an eye roll. “Stop being such a mother hen. I’m an adult, Anakin. I know my limits.”

“I did it when you were thirty-six. I’m gonna do it when you’re twenty.”

“Lovely.”

Obi-Wan sits up, his braid slipping from Anakin’s fingers so it doesn’t pull on his head. He smiles at Anakin, his hands coming to slide along Anakin’s collarbones. 

“Do you always sleep shirtless?”

Anakin shrugs. “In space travel, usually, I guess. When there’s windows and a breeze, I’ll have a nightshirt.”

Obi-Wan lets out a noise of assent, his fingers slipping away from Anakin. He starts undoing his robes, and Anakin blinks. 

“Are you…planning to sleep in here?”

“I am.”

“Oh.” Anakin watches as Obi-Wan shrugs out of his tunics, as easy as anything. “Um, did you want a nightshirt?”

“That’d be lovely.”

Nodding, slightly weirded out – they’ve bunked together before, an inevitable prospect when doing campaigns together for so long both before and during the war, but anything outside of that is unheard of. Anakin didn’t even try to slip into Obi-Wan’s bed for comfort as a youngling – Anakin finds a nightshirt for Obi-Wan along with sleep pants. He waits until Obi-Wan is out of his Jedi clothes before handing them over, taking in just how young he looks. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t have a baby face, but it’s weird seeing no wrinkles or bags under his eyes. He still has his top surgery scars – Anakin doesn’t know when he had the operation, but apparently it was younger than twenty – they’re redder, more noticeable than the pale lines Anakin has seen previously when changing. Obi-Wan’s arms are scarless, the nasty cut on his upper arm that he got from Ventress and little absent cuts he’s acquired no where to be found. His stomach is flatter and his build lighter, just starting to fill out, but Anakin already knew that from hugging him. The long scar on his lower leg is absent, and his knees are scraped up. 

Sliding back onto the bed, Anakin bumps his shoulder against Obi-Wan’s and knocks along their bond. Obi-Wan knocks back, and he lifts the covers with the Force. That’s new. Anakin lets Obi-Wan slide their fingers together, and he follows when Obi-Wan pulls him under the blanket. Obi-Wan settles himself to be the little spoon. Urged on by Obi-Wan both in his mind and with a tug of the arm, Anakin curls his body around him, sliding his knees under Obi-Wan’s and wrapping him between his arms. The soft strands of Obi-Wan’s hair tickle his chin.

Anakin wants to ask why Obi-Wan wants this, but he bites his tongue as he tastes the sadness leaking from their bond. Obi-Wan’s hold on his hand get tighter, and Anakin squeezes back. Thoughts of Qui-Gon pass through their bond, regret and grief overwhelming. Anakin feels breathless at the weight of it, the pure amount of love and emotion Obi-Wan holds for and because of the man. It suffocates him. It suffocates him, and he’s not the one with the broken bond. He had completely forgotten that Obi-Wan had lost it.

Wrapping himself around Obi-Wan’s sadness, Anakin shoulders what Obi-Wan will let him. He presses his body tighter against Obi-Wan’s, and he listens as Obi-Wan starts to cry. Their bodies shake from the power of his sobs; his sorrow echoes across the walls. 

When Obi-Wan gets out the question that Anakin has been dreading, it takes him a few minutes to say it between his tears. _How did he die?_

Anakin, not knowing how to soften the blow nor all what actually happened in the palace, tells him simply that Qui-Gon died protecting the Naboo, protecting Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon Jinn died fighting against a Sith Lord. 

Obi-Wan’s grip gets painful, and the beginnings of rage slide against the sadness inside their bond. _Did someone kill the Sith Lord who did this?_

Swallowing, Anakin tries to get even closer. He wishes that he could tell Obi-Wan that someone did, that _he_ did, but Maul is still well and alive. How, Anakin can’t explain, because he’s pretty sure that Obi-Wan sliced him in half judging by his legs, but, well. The Force has never been kind. 

The rage growing between them gets larger and the sorrow transforms into self deprecation. Anakin tries clings to Obi-Wan, his thoughts violent and vengeful. Obi-Wan is a nova like this with no outlet, and all Anakin can do is marvel and hold on.

He can’t offer anything more, and in the emptiness of space, Obi-Wan can do nothing but this.

———-

The next morning, Anakin wakes to Obi-Wan’s hair in his mouth. Groaning, he tries to slip out from bed, but he’s trapped in Obi-Wan’s grip tight like a vise. They’re still stuck together, Anakin’s body wrapped around Obi-Wan’s smaller one.

Anakin takes a deep breath. He sends a questioning press along there bond, and Obi-Wan groggily answers. The hold on his hand is released. Relieved, Anakin takes his arm back and rolls over to stretch himself out. His body popping is like dipping below the surface of a lake; the feeling of refreshment washes over him, his joints happy. 

Obi-Wan snorts at him, but he follows suit. Anakin laughs at the popping of his body; at twenty, Obi-Wan’s body is louder than it is at thirty-six. 

“Maybe I meditate more.” 

“You do mediate a whole lot.”

“The mystery is solved.”

Rolling his eyes, Anakin takes Obi-Wan in. He looks wrecked; his eyes are still puffy, and his voice, what little he’s used it, is obviously hoarse. Grief lingers over him, and Anakin wants to offer more comfort. He just doesn’t think that Obi-Wan will accept it now in the daylight. 

“Your bed head is better now, though,” Anakin says, not wanting to break the mood of the morning as much as he wants to.

A hand reflexively comes up to his hair. “How do I style my hair?”

“Oh stars, do you style it. Let me pull up holos; words can’t describe it.”

He scrambles to pick up his datapad, scrolling through the Holonet to find a worthy holo. There are plenty to choose from, The Negotiator a loved figure of the Republic. Anakin settles on a holo from back when Obi-Wan sported his mullet, and then he finds a holo of Obi-Wan escorting Padmé in his formerly current haircut.

Showing Obi-Wan, he feels a large smile form on his lips. Obi-Wan’s eyes go wide in that way Anakin only notices because he’s known him for years, surprise coursing along their bond. A hand comes up to cradle his jaw, rubbing at the smooth skin there. 

“I grow a beard?”

Nodding, Anakin lets Obi-Wan take the datapad from him. “It suits you.”

“How long did it take me?”

Anakin shrugs. “Not too long, if I remember right. I think you started growing it right after you were knighted, and I’ve never seen you without it since. Speaking of,” he gestures to Obi-Wan’s arm, “do we need to do anything when we get to Coruscant? Do you have an implant or do you take shots right now?”

“I have an implant.” 

“Good. Good. That means we can go straight to see Padmé.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitch. “Of course. Do you have an implant or take shots?”

“Shots.” Anakin shrugs. “I can’t really grow a beard, though.”

“I can’t even picture one on you.”

That gets him a shoulder check. “That’s not nice.”

“No, I suppose it wasn’t. But really, I like seeing your whole face. You have a beautiful one.”

Anakin feels his face go hot, a blush surely obvious. “Thank you? Nice try saving face.”

“It’s working.”

“Shut up. No it isn’t.”

Obi-Wan look on at him, amused. “Of course it isn’t. Your face is red for no reason whatsoever.”

“Shut up! I’m leaving. I have paperwork to do.”

“If you say you do.”

Anakin shoves himself back into his tunics. “I do, since a certain general decided to shed sixteen years off.”

“That’s hardly my fault.” 

A tremor in the their bond betrays that Obi-Wan does feel guilty about it, and Anakin switches gears. He doesn’t even mind the paperwork. “Leave some cookies for me, Obi-Wan.”

“I’ll save you one.”

“ _Some cookies_. Save me _some cookies_.”

“Making promises you can’t keep is unbecoming of a Jedi.”

Anakin does up his boots. “I’ll do something unbecoming of a Jedi if I only get one of Chef’s cookies.” He turns back to Obi-Wan. “Cody and Rex’s comms are linked to yours, so if you want to hang out or help out with something, they’re there.”

“I’m not a youngling, Anakin.”

“No, you just,” Anakin waves his arm around his room, “were thrust into the middle of a war.”

“I think I’ll survive.”

“You’d better. I’m quite fond.”

“So am I, surprisingly. It is my life.”

Anakin huffs. “You think you’re so funny.”

“I know I am. Go do your paperwork.”

So Anakin goes off to finish what he can of Obi-Wan’s reports, and then he hangs out with Rex for a little bit, telling him he’s put in for time off for the men. Next, he goes to catch up with Artoo. Artoo yells happily upon seeing him, and Anakin offers to wash him. The resounding _yes_ he gets has him laughing. He settles down on the floor, little scrubber in hand, and listens as Artoo updates him on his adventures in the ship and with the other droids. 

Eventually, Artoo asks if he’s okay; his eyes are not focused. Laughing, Anakin shakes his head as he scrapes at a nasty patch of stained oil.

“I’m fine, Artoo.”

_“You are sad. I don’t like it.”_

“I’m just thinking, that’s all.” 

_“Why?”_

“Why am I thinking? I happen to be smart, you know, Artoo.”

_“Idiot. You knew what I meant. Why are your thoughts making you sad?”_

“I’m not sad. I’m just confused, I guess. Obi-Wan’s…different because of the holocron.”

_“He is like how I first met him.”_

“Younger, even.”

_“I could shock him into treating you better.”_

Anakin laughs and pats Artoo. “I think we’re getting on better now, actually.”

_“Then I will shock him into behaving once he returns.”_

“There will be no shocking Obi-Wan, Artoo.”

A series of expletives the like Anakin has grown accustomed to escape his friend. _“I am trying to help, little starlight. He will take notice that he has wronged you if he gets shocked.”_

“And I appreciate it. But I like Obi-Wan; you don’t need to hurt him on my behalf.” A sly grin overcomes his face. “You should shock him the next time he insults you, though. Insults don’t work too well when I have to translate them.”

His head whirls in excitement. _“Finally.”_

“Don’t go overboard! I swear, Artoo.”

_“As if I would. My counterpart is the one you must worry about such things for.”_

Anakin brushes off the last of the grime from Artoo’s dome. “Threepio is not the one I need to worry about, and you know it. I’m taking Obi-Wan to see Padmé once we reach Coruscant; do you want to come with?”

_“Of course, little starlight. I will suffer your friend’s presence to see Padmé and my counterpart.”_

“What do you think you and Threepio’ll do?”

Artoo lets out a contemplative beep. _“My counterpart enjoys gazing on the balcony. We will do this, and I will tell him of our battles. I will watch over him when he powers down.”_

“Sounds romantic.”

 _“What will you and Padmé do?”_ Annoyed, he continues, _“and Obi-Wan?”_

“Hopefully Padmé and I will get to do something romantic after bringing Obi-Wan over. I think she’ll get a laugh out of this.”

_“Maybe she will like him better now, too.”_

“It’s not that I like him better now. He’s just…more expressive.”

_“So you like him better.”_

“It’s just a nice change of pace. I do miss him, even though he’s right there.”

Artoo nudges himself against Anakin, a sad little beep escaping him.

“I know. What a mess, huh?” He runs his hand down Artoo. “How’s Arfour? Does she want a cleaning, too?”

_“Arfour is in optimal condition. She was already cleaned by one of the maintenance crew.”_

“Didn’t wanna wait for me, huh?”

_“You are mine, little starlight. Our time together gets rarer and rarer. She is respecting it.”_

“Tell her thanks for me.”

_“She knows that you appreciate it.”_

“Humor the human, Artoo.”

_“If I must.”_

The two of them spend the rest of the afternoon together, Artoo telling dirty droid jokes and Anakin upgrading the fighters and wandering droids that want them. When Arfour rolls in, beeping happily, Anakin caresses Artoo’s head. They exchange goodbyes, and soon Artoo follows Arfour to go power down.

Wiping his hands, Anakin stands and stretches. He goes to the mess to eat dinner, and afterwards he heads back to his quarters. They should be back to Coruscant in the next few days, and the thought brings a smile to his face. He’s missed Padmé so much, and he can’t wait to see her surprise with Obi-Wan. He can’t wait to see Ahsoka again.

He settles in to watch one of the Holodramas he’s inevitably fallen behind on to wait for Obi-Wan to come back. He wants to know what he did today.

———-

“You’re adorable when you’re focused, Anakin.”

The words jar him out of his Holodrama, Kakalena’s betrayal forgotten, and the compliment brings a flush to his face as confusion, like a bucket of water, crashes over him. That’s like the second time Obi-Wan’s complimented him in such a way. “Thank you?”

“There’s no need to be puzzled by it,” Obi-Wan says, voice filled with something Anakin can’t identify, as he crawls along the bed to bring a hand up to cup Anakin’s face. Right after, he uses it to pull Anakin in for a kiss. 

Arms flailing, his datapad falling to the bed, Anakin maybe lets out an embarrassing noise of surprise that he’ll deny if Obi-Wan ever brings it up. Obi-Wan is _kissing him_. Eyes closed and body leaning in over him and his mind wrapping all around him, _kissing him_. Anakin tries to find any trace that he’s not seeing and feeling what he is, but there’s nothing to contradict it.

He pulls away, and his voice only slightly shakes when he asks, “What are you doing?”

“I _was_ kissing you. I’m not stupid; I know that we were dating, and you’ve shown no indication that me being a Padawan now bothers you.”

Anakin blinks, and then he blinks again. “What?”

“Anakin, the kiss was nowhere near good enough for you to be this flabbergasted. You weren’t even kissing back.”

“Uh, I wasn’t kissing back because _we aren’t dating?_ How the– _why_ do you think you and I are dating?”

Obi-Wan pulls away from him slightly, sitting on Anakin’s lap instead of hovering over it. “What do you mean why do I think we’re dating? Anakin, you’re curled in my mind all the time when we’re together. I broke down last night crying, and you didn’t say a word.”

“It’s nice to do that? And I’m not an asshole; you just lost your master.”

That gets him a stare of his own. “Anakin, even still having our bond after your knighting is against the Code because it means we’re attached. That, and your easy affection, and you’re telling me we _aren’t dating_?”

“Um,” Anakin flushes. “Yes?”

“Kriffing remarkable.” Obi-Wan looks at him like a puzzle he needs to solve, and Anakin doesn’t think he likes being on that side of Obi-Wan’s attention again. He has not missed that look, a constant when he was a Padawan, at all. “You’re exactly my type, and I’m not even with you.”

“ _Excuse me?_ Your _type?_ ”

Anakin tries to think back. He only knows of Satine; any other lovers Obi-Wan’s had haven’t popped back into his life, or they’ve kept their affair with the man behind them much better. Both he and Satine are blonds, he thinks off the top of his head, but that’s a bit superficial and probably not what Obi-Wan meant. 

Obi-Wan saves him from having to think any harder by continuing on. “You’re kind, and from what the men say, you’re brave. You’re loyal and reckless–”

“Reckless? You have not seen me be reckless this whole time you’ve been like this?”

“You abandoned your battle position to come find me after an explosion went off with no idea what caused it or if there were more. Loyal and reckless, Anakin.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just loyalty.”

That gets him an eyebrow raise. “That that is your ideal of ‘just loyalty’ only proves my point even more. I’m sure that you’re only going to prove it further our next engagement, assuming I’m still like this.”

“We could argue this all day, but you don’t remember any of my counterarguments.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Obi-Wan says dryly. “Argumentative. Also another thing I seem to be attracted to.”

“You do not–” Flashbacks of all the arguing he saw Obi-Wan and Satine did in only the short time he’s seen them interact flicker in his mind. All the flirting with Ventress comes back, too, and Anakin instantly wants to recoil at having even incidentally compared himself to her. “We aren’t dating!”

“Do you want to?”

Anakin only just stops himself from just blinking at Obi-Wan again. “Are you being serious? You can’t be being serious.”

“I’ve already thought I was breaking the Code with you anyway, and I’ve grown fond.”

“I can’t. I’m already with someone.” He could stab himself, he doesn’t have Padmé’s permission, but fair’s fair. Obi-Wan needs to know that Anakin can be trusted with the admission that Obi-Wan is willing to break the Code. “I’m with Padmé.”

A mix of both surprise and disappointment swirl in Anakin’s mind as Obi-Wan examines the truth of the statement, and Anakin struggles to swallow. Obi-Wan even lets some of his emotion through on his face. Anakin hesitantly tangles his hands with Obi-Wan’s for tactile comfort.

“So, you’re just affectionate, then.”

“I suppose.”

“You and Padmé are exclusive.” It’s a statement. “I don’t suppose I could ask Padmé’s permission to try dating you?”

That short-circuits his brain. “You…weren’t kidding when you said you’d grown fond.”

“No.”

“Uh…I, um, haven’t thought of you romantically.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “I couldn’t tell. Feel free to say no.”

“Shut up.”

Anakin looks at their joined hands, and he tries to think of dating Obi-Wan, of their bond staying like how it’s been the past while, of Obi-Wan continuing to trust him with blinding smiles and his sadness, of curling up with him in bed to sleep at night. It’s appealing, but guilt wiggles in his mind. He loves Obi-Wan, but he’s not in love with Obi-Wan. He’s in love with Padmé.

“Padmé’s my wife, Obi-Wan. I…don’t want to lose you, though.”

The use of wife garners surprise, Obi-Wan’s amazement glowing in his mind. “You won’t lose me, Anakin.”

He’ll just lose their new intimacy. 

“But _wife?_ ”

“Yeah.” A smile grows despite himself. “We’re married.”

“Congratulations. Did…the older me know?”

Anakin shakes his head. “I…think you knew that we were intimate. I’m pretty sure, but we never talked about it.”

“And the two of you are content, hiding a marriage from the Jedi?”

“Of course not. But duty comes first.” He raises an eyebrow. “You thought we were dating and still Jedi, remember?”

“Two Jedi hiding within the Jedi is different. I imagine I see you far more often than you see Padmé.”

“You have me there.”

Obi-Wan lifts his hand, pressing a fleeting kiss to Anakin’s. Anakin feels his heart flip from the action. “Do you still plan to take me to see her after this conversation?”

“Of course!” Anakin lifts his eyes from their hands. “Unless–unless you no longer want to.”

“Oh, I do love to torture myself.” As soon as Anakin’s panic starts rising, Obi-Wan sends waves of calmness through their bond. “Anakin, I would love to meet Padmé. You said we were friends.”

“You are. I’m pretty sure you two met up without me to complain.”

A sad smile crosses Obi-Wan’s lips. “Do we now? Then I definitely want to meet her.”

“Obi-Wan…”

“It’s not the end of the world, Anakin. You don’t return my feelings, and you’re married. It happens.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I’ll get over it.” His smile breaks. “I always do.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having learned that Obi-Wan has feelings for him, Anakin now has to navigate their budding relationship without hurting either of them. Padmé is the best wife he could have ever asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After like two months, here we are! I'm really sick of looking at this chapter, so I'm just gonna post it and get it over with. I'm done rewriting and tweaking it.

It’s one of the most awkward nights of Anakin’s life. At least when Padmé rejected him at Varykino, they slept in separate rooms. Technically he and Obi-Wan have separate rooms on the ship, but after last night Anakin is reluctant to let him sleep on his own.

No one should have to mourn alone. One night of crying isn’t enough for the love that Anakin felt last night. Obi-Wan needs to let it out, and Anakin doesn’t know if he would by himself. His Obi-Wan didn’t take Qui-Gon’s death well for a long time. 

Obi-Wan laughs mirthlessly when Anakin nervously says that he’s welcome to stay as Obi-Wan makes to leave, but he accepts after Anakin presses in their bond, soft tendrils of worry curling around him. A bittersweet but nonetheless pleased flutter echoes in Obi-Wan’s mind, strong enough Anakin feels it just on the surface level of their bond. It only strengthens Anakin’s resolve that he’s made the right choice to offer his bed again despite…Obi-Wan’s attachment to him.

Obi-Wan sheds his tunics and climbs into bed. Anakin feels the awkwardness in the air, feels how much Obi-Wan radiates discomfort and desperation. He doesn’t know what to do now, however, beside offer physical comfort. Anakin’s never been good with words like Padmé is. He doesn’t spoon Obi-Wan like last night. Instead, he wraps an arm around his friend and pulls him against his shoulder. Obi-Wan is stiff in his arms, and neither of them relax.

Anakin almost starts thinking he made a mistake, they stay tense so long.

Once the dam breaks though, late into the night, Anakin struggles to hold on. It almost seems like Obi-Wan’s emotions are even stronger, and his grip on Anakin’s body is painful. There’s no denying it. Sorrow over Qui-Gon overtakes their bond. He wasn’t supposed to be dead. He couldn’t be dead, Obi-Wan still needed him, Qui-Gon promised to be his master. He promised. 

Anakin curls tighter in Obi-Wan’s mind, pulling every instance he remembers of praise for his own master. Pride from Cody that he’s serving with him; relief on numerous senators’ faces when Obi-Wan is assigned to escort them somewhere; Master Windu congratulating him on another successful negotiation. Obi-Wan turned out fine without Qui-Gon, and he needs Obi-Wan to see that before spiraling further. The Council gave him a seat. Obi-Wan was awarded knighthood for his bravery against Maul; Obi-Wan took Anakin on, and he turned out alright, didn’t he? Anakin hasn’t fucked everything up yet. That thought gets the hands on him tightening, Obi-Wan’s rage turning on him as he dislodges himself to look Anakin in the eye. 

“Anakin, you’re perfect.” His voice burns Anakin; it’s hotter than the harsh twins on Tatooine in its conviction. 

Struggling to understand the turning focus, fighting down the unwelcome pleasure that’s starting to build knowing that Obi-Wan has such conviction about him, Anakin fumbles for something to say. He can’t think between the roaring of Obi-Wan’s emotions, viciously swirling around their heads, and his own growing confusion. “I…I wasn’t trying to be self deprecating. I was trying to tell you you did a great job being my master.”

“We’re entwined right now. You might not be aware of your thoughts while examining mine, but I am.” Obi-Wan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You don’t think you’ve turned out alright.”

Anakin chokes down the truth of the statement like he always does; he is not how anyone wanted him to turn out, but this Obi-Wan doesn’t need to know that. Especially now. “I turned out fine, I’ll have you know. And we’re talking about you.” 

“I think I’ve had enough of that, thanks.” He looks it, too, his eyes red rimmed and his body wracked with tremors. Two nights in a row crying will do that.

Anakin swallows. Maybe he did make a mistake asking Obi-Wan to stay; this was supposed to be for Obi-Wan’s benefit, and here he is, somehow having turned this about himself. “How about we forget this and just sleep?”

“I’m not dropping this, Anakin. We can sleep,” a melancholy tendril of affection caresses Anakin’s mind, “but I’m not dropping this.”

Anakin wants to cry at the affection caressing him. Obi-Wan’s hurting, and he’s trying to boost Anakin’s esteem instead of letting Anakin help him. “Neither am I, Obi-Wan. You’re doing absolutely fine without Qui-Gon.”

——————

Swallowing, Anakin looks at Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye. They’re now landing on Coruscant after the two most awkward days of Anakin’s life. Neither of them brought up what happened the second night in Anakin’s bed, and Obi-Wan found his own bedroom to sleep in for the rest of the voyage. 

Anakin ignored all fleeting thoughts of missing him while he tried to rest. When he saw Obi-Wan during the day, he tried his best to act normal, to not push like he so desperately wanted to. Talking to Padmé about it before he fucked their conversation up would be better. He also had to stop to think regularly if he was being overly friendly in his actions; the last thing he wanted was to hurt Obi-Wan.

It’s even more awkward being on the rejecting side than being the rejected, he’s found out. Every other move he’s made towards Obi-Wan has had him worrying if he’s making Obi-Wan uncomfortable with the intimacy or if he’s possibly leading him on. He doesn’t know where the line he can’t cross is as he did with Padmé.

It’s been frustrating, like walking a minefield, and Anakin knows that Obi-Wan has been feeling the same watching Anakin’s growing hesitance. 

Their plan, now, is to just gun it to Padmé’s apartment. Anakin hasn’t bothered to alert the Council about Obi-Wan, feeling it’d be easier to accept in person, so none of the Masters are going to be waiting in the hangar for them. It’ll be a while before anyone notices they’re missing – they usually loiter in the hangar making sure unloading and repair goes smoothly, and then after Anakin usually makes them stop in the medical wing to get Obi-Wan checked out, so the two of them not coming to debrief the first day back without summons is normal.

When the ship hatch opens, Anakin pats Artoo’s dome. It whirls as he lets out an excited noise, and, shooting a smile down at him, Anakin starts walking the opposite way of his men. Obi-Wan falls into step. The three of them head to one of the smaller exits of the ship, Artoo easily opening it for them. Anakin drops down first, and he finds a speeder for them to borrow.

Flying out of the hangar is easy enough. It’s strange for anyone to be leaving so quickly after docking, but not unheard of. Grinning, Anakin turns to Obi-Wan beside him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you enjoy stealing temple property so much, Anakin?”

“We are only borrowing it. Aren’t we, Artoo?”

“We are.”

“I do happen to enjoy flying, however.”

“Of course you do.” Obi-Wan inhales. “I couldn’t tell by how fast we’re going.”

“Relax. I’ve been flying my whole life.”

“I find that hard to believe. If you have, you’d surely have learned the traffic laws by now.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, sending reassurance through their bond on the surface level. “I’m not going to crash.”

Artoo chimes in with support of his statement.

“See, Artoo agrees with me.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Anakin.”

“Well, it should.” Anakin smiles at Artoo. “He’s a good judge of character most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“He doesn’t like you. Which, you are kind of mean to him.”

“Artoo is a droid.”

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Droids have feelings, you know.”

“Of course they do.”

Artoo lets out a warning noise, and Anakin shrugs. “I gave Artoo permission to shock you every time you’re mean to him, by the way, so I’d stop talking.”

“Lovely,” he drawls. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do. I also like Artoo.”

“I like you, too, little starlight.”

“Thanks, Artoo.” Translating, Anakin continues, “he said he likes me, too.”

“Mhm.”

Not actually wanting a fight, Anakin drums his fingers on the wheel, trying to think of a different topic to talk about. Something light. “So, any allergies? Older you wasn’t allergic to much, but just in case now that we’re going to be eating real food.”

“Not to any foods I hope Padmé will be serving. What am I allergic to?”

“You’re allergic to pharma and hoi-broth.”

Obi-Wan lets out surprise in their bond. “I’m allergic to hoi-broth?”

“Yep.” Anakin turns a curious eye onto Obi-Wan. “What are you allergic to?”

“Pharma and doze tablets.” 

“Good to know.” Anakin takes a turn. “So no allergic reactions are going to be happening tonight.”

“That’s always a sign of a pleasant evening,” Obi-Wan says, his voice dry. 

Anakin rolls his eyes as he starts landing. “Heads up for Threepio. He’s a little anxious, but he’s harmless.”

“Threepio?”

At the name, Artoo beeps happily.

“The protocol droid that’ll greet us. He’s going to probably go into a frenzy asking if you’re okay.” Anakin nudges Artoo. “Put the moves on him, yeah?”

“Little starlight, there is no need to be inappropriate. But I will take him so you have privacy.”

Snorting, Anakin taps his dome. “I hardly call that inappropriate with the things you say to me.”

“Just what exactly does Artoo say to you usually, Anakin?”

“Dirty droid jokes. Lots and lots of them.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, his curiosity loud in Anakin’s mind as he climbs out of the speeder. “Dirty droid jokes?”

“Things about putting code in other droids and leaving messages. Messing with protocols, among other things.” Coughing, Anakin pats Artoo’s dome. “It’s dirty because organics are usually the ones who do the coding.”

“Oh, obviously.”

“You’d understand it better if you hung out with Arfour, your assigned astromech, more often.”

“I don’t think I want to understand better.”

The three of them fall into silence as they walk into the building. With Artoo, there’s no need to try to sneak into the senate apartment complex. He’s a celebrated war hero on Naboo, and while most other planets don’t view droids as sentient, it’s no secret to the other senators here that Padmé has a fondness for him. It’s rare, though, that Artoo gets to come see her here with the war on.

As predicted, Threepio loudly exclaims when they come in. Anakin smiles at him hurrying over and pulls him into a hug.

“Threepio! How have you been?”

“Oh, Master Ani.” Threepio shuffles to get out of his hold. “I have been well. Though I’m afraid that I didn’t know you were coming. There isn’t enough dinner for you and Master Keno–oh dear, what has happened? Master Kenobi, are you alright?”

“He’s just fine, Threepio. He’s just…shed a few years.”

“Dear maker, I am astounded. How is that possible? Was it–”

Artoo yells and bumps into Threepio’s leg. Anakin stifles a laugh as he demands to know where are the inquiries as to his wellbeing and Threepio’s responding huffing. Obi-Wan merely looks on, terribly confused at how much personality is happening at once. The incredulous look on his face sends Anakin into a stronger bout of laughter.

As Threepio explains that he was being polite, the sound of motion deeper in the apartment has Anakin perking up. Apparently Padmé is home already and was close enough to hear Threepio exclaiming in the entrance to her rooms. It takes a moment for her to walk to them, but when she does Anakin feels his lips split into a big smile. She’s even more beautiful than he remembered her, her curls messy from being pulled out of whatever arrangement she had on her head this morning and her dress a simple, deep green lounging gown. There’s a surprised little smile on her face, natural makeup decorating her today.

“Padmé!” he exclaims as he takes big strides to take her into his arms. He buries his face in her hair and breathes her in as she digs her fingers into his back. After a long moment, reluctantly, he takes a step away from her, his smile still on his lips. “I missed you.”

“And I you, Ani.” Her own smile is blinding this close, and her hands trail down his back to rest on his hips. 

“I brought a surprise.”

Her eyebrow quirks in interest. “Oh?”

Pulling away from her so she can see behind him, Anakin turns to face Obi-Wan – who’s watching them intently. It brings a slight flush to Anakin’s face, but he looks back at his wife. “Look at how young he is!”

“Obi-Wan? What happened?” She rushes to him and grabs his hands. “Are you alright?”

Squeezing Padmé’s hands, Obi-Wan brings one up to kiss. Seeing him do that makes Anakin’s heart flop, remembering Obi-Wan doing the same to him.

“I’m fine. As Anakin put it to your protocol droid, I’ve merely…shed a few years.” He smiles at her. “It’s nice to meet you, Padmé.”

“‘Nice to meet–’ Obi-Wan, do you not remember me?”

Cutting in, Anakin answers, “Nope. He’s a shiny Padawan of only twenty, right now.”

“You’re only a year older, Anakin. No need to sound so smug.”

Padmé shakes her head. “Why don’t we sit down so you two can explain what happened and why you’re with me instead of the healers.”

“He’s fine, minus being sixteen years younger.” And believing he’s in love with me, thinks Anakin, worry growing. He and Obi-Wan never did discuss if Anakin would bring it up to Padmé with or without him in the room.

The three of them head into the sitting room, Padmé seating herself by the armrest of the sofa. Anakin sits next to her, and Obi-Wan settles beside him, his legs crisscrossed. He sits even more unusually in chairs as a young adult, Anakin is coming to learn. Padmé curls some of her hair behind her ear and lifts a waiting eyebrow.

Swallowing, Anakin looks to Obi-Wan. He gets a shrug in return. “Well,” Anakin starts, “there was a stolen holocron that we were trying to recover. And Obi-Wan, in a typical, stupid Obi-Wan manner–”

“My mannerisms are not stupid, Anakin.”

“–in typical, stupid Obi-Wan manner, waltzed straight into a bomb zone trying to recover the holocron from the thief, and then after the explosion was like this.”

“We don’t know that the explosion wasn’t from the holocron itself.” 

“Why would we have exploding holocrons? They’re for information! And the one we recovered is still intact!”

Padmé loudly clears her throat. Anakin immediately stops. “Well, either the holocron did something or the explosion wasn’t a normal one. Which we’d probably know if you had gone to the healers.”

Slightly chagrined, Anakin takes her hand. “But then we wouldn’t get to see you.”

“Oh, Ani.” Padmé softens at his touch and squeezes his hand. “I am happy to see you.” Coloring and seizing her hand back, she turns to Obi-Wan. “The both of you.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, a small but fond smile on his face. Anakin notes that he’s hiding the sad edge of it a lot better than two days ago. “I’m aware of your relationship, Padmé. There’s no need to be embarrassed about touching Anakin.”

“Oh, are you now?” She raises an eyebrow at Anakin. “Anakin?”

Swallowing, Anakin locks gazes with her. “I know we didn’t talk about it, but it came up.”

“And, Obi-Wan, you’re…”

“I’m not reporting you to the Council, Padmé. I couldn’t.”

Anakin glances at Obi-Wan and then back at Padmé before blurting out, “I told him because he kissed me.”

“You told him…because he kissed you.” She blinks. “Obi-Wan? Can you give us a minute?”

Obi-Wan stands up, his body stiff. “Of course. I’ll return to the entrance hall.”

“Obi-Wan, no. I forgot you haven’t been here before.” Padmé points in the opposite direction. “There’s more comfortable rooms down that way. Ones with chairs and pillows?”

“Of course. Can’t be uncomfortable while I wait, can I?”

Padmé lets out a laugh at his tone. “No more than necessary. I promise we won’t be long.”

“Take as long as you need.”

Humming, Padmé watches him walk away. Anakin watches her, rubbing his fingers along the ends of his sleeves. His stomach is starting to knot, and he bites his lip as Padmé turns her attention back to him. Her eyes are amused. She shushes him as he opens his mouth, pulling his hands out from his tunic and lacing her fingers through his. Padmé then pulls them up and presses her lips on the back of his hand in a kiss.

Anakin feels his face immediately set on fire.

“That’s quite a charming move, isn’t it, Ani? Did he pull it on you?”

“After–after he kissed me.”

She presses another kiss to his hand, laughter written throughout her body. “Relax. I’m not mad at you. Or Obi-Wan. Tell me about the kiss.”

“You’re not mad?”

“He kissed you before knowing you were unavailable. No, I’m not mad.”

“Oh.” Anakin smiles nervously at her, pulling their hands to his face to copy his wife. “That’s good.”

Giggling, Padmé pulls their other hands into her lap, her thumb rubbing Anakin’s. “The kiss?”

“Uh.” 

“You’re turning so red! Tell me, Ani.”

“He just kissed me! I was waiting for him on my bed, and he crawled over me after he came in and kissed me.” Thinking, Anakin continues, “he said I was adorable before he did it.”

“Ooo, you were waiting on the bed for him? And he crawled onto of you?”

“Padmé!”

“Obi-Wan was right; you are adorable.” Snickering, Padmé rubs at Anakin’s growing pout. “Why’d he kiss you?”

“He thought we were dating.” Looking down, Anakin continues, quieter, “he said that we were acting really intimate and that I was his type.”

“Anakin–”

“I didn’t mean to! But he’s really open now, and it’s so easy to curl into his head! I just thought he was more affectionate as a Padawan.”

Padmé squeezes his hands before using one to push Anakin’s face back up. “Ani, I wasn’t reproaching you. I know that you’re overly affectionate, and before this Obi-Wan likely knew it, too. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! Obi-Wan thinks he’s in love with me now.”

“Anakin, take a breath.” He tries to, and Padmé waits him out. When he squeezes her hand, she continues, “It’s going to be okay.”

“How?”

Padmé looks at him, her face softening, and Anakin wonders how he got so lucky to have her in his life. She’s thinking through her response, and Anakin scoots closer to her, curling into her.

“Well, how do you feel about Obi-Wan?”

“He’s Obi-Wan. I love him, but I’m not in love with him.” Anakin huffs. “You know I’m in love with you.”

Padmé brushes some of Anakin’s curls out of his face. “I know, and I love you with all my heart, too. But really think about my question.”

“I don’t have to.” Anakin swallows down an imaginary lump in his throat. “I want everything that I was doing that made him think we were together, but I don’t love him like that.”

“Oh, Ani,” Padmé curls her fingers around his ear. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t cry.”

“I’m not going to cry.”

“How about we bring Obi-Wan back in for dinner? Can’t cry while eating.”

A huff of laughter escaping him, Anakin shakes his head. He blinks his eyes and rubs his head on Padmé. “I don’t want to get up.”

“I promised Obi-Wan we wouldn’t be long, remember? Up you go.”

“No.”

Padmé flicks his forehead. “Yes.”

“If I must,” Anakin moans, detaching himself from his wife.

Padmé laughs at his dramatics before standing. She offers her hand to him, and Anakin takes it, letting her guide him up. Padmé nods in the direction of the kitchen, and Anakin follows the suggestion – Threepio did say that there wasn’t enough food prepared. Padmé also probably wants to talk with Obi-Wan without him there. 

Sighing, Anakin looks at what was to be Padmé’s dinner. Beautifully cooked fish – Anakin doesn’t know what species – with a small arrangement of muja fruit, shuura, pineapple, and starfruit. He grabs a storage unit and places the dish into it before looking into Padmé’s conservator; Padmé doesn’t like eating different meals than him when they’re together if they can help it. Inside, there is plenty of produce, a small selection of wines, and a little container of milk. Beside them is three quarters of a pastry, and further down is the proteins in the frozen pocket.

Looking at the packets of nerf and fish, Anakin bites his lip. It’s not as nice a dinner as what Padmé was going to have, but he could make nerfburgers. Nerf cooks faster than fish, and burgers cook faster than anything else. Pulling out a packet and toppings, Anakin then grabs fresh muja fruit, oranges, and shuura for the dessert dish. He closes the conservator and starts cooking.

Anakin makes Padmé one nerfburger and a big bowl of fruit; she prefers fruit over proteins any day. He has two nerfburgers and a decent bowl for dessert, and he’s made two nerfburgers for Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan’s bowl of fruit is small and drizzled with shuura syrup. Worrying his lip – he hasn’t heard anything from Padmé or Obi-Wan the whole time in the kitchen – Anakin places the dishes on a serving tray and heads back into the living space.

Obi-Wan and Padmé aren’t there.

Anakin wonders if they’re still having private conversation as he bypasses the couches for the deeper rooms of Padmé’s apartment. He finds them in the second sitting room, Obi-Wan with his legs crossed and Padmé leaning into him, one of her hands waving with whatever she’s saying. Smiling, Anakin loudly knocks his foot against the doorway to announce himself. Padmé looks up at the noise, her lips curling up in amusement. Obi-Wan turns to look at him slowly, and Anakin feels warmth blossom throughout his body at the pleased look he has.

Padmé gestures that he can come in, and Anakin drops the serving tray on the caf table before settling next to her. He wants to press against her, but he refrains in front of Obi-Wan. There’s no need to torture him just because he loves the comfort of her.

“I made nerfburgers.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow as he unfurls his legs so both his feet touch the floor. “So we see.”

“Thank you, Ani,” Padmé says, elbowing Obi-Wan. 

Anakin meets Padmé’s eyes. “You’re welcome.”

The three of them tuck in to eat. Obi-Wan tries to start in on his dessert first, but he redirects to his burgers when Anakin sends an annoyed flick through their bond. Padmé rolls her eyes at them, and she herself digs into her meal. Anakin watches her for a moment, the elegant movement of her wrists despite the simple task and the way her eyes slightly crinkle in pleasure when the food hits her tongue. He’s missed every little thing about her.

Once the burgers are gone and the fruit is eaten, Obi-Wan’s bowl empty first, Padmé leans back against the sofa. Her lips curl into a satisfied little smile, a hand coming to rest on her stomach. Laughing, Anakin shakes his head when Padmé gives him an exaggerated show of patting it. Obi-Wan snorts beside her.

“It was delicious, Anakin,” he agrees.

Anakin lets his smile get bigger. “A Skywalker specialty.”

Padmé knocks him with her elbow; Anakin can only grin at her. Obi-Wan rolls his eyes before letting his face slip into a flirty smile. Anakin easily recognizes it from all the times he’s used it with Satine and with Ventress, even if there are less wrinkles involved. Nervous, Anakin curls into Padmé and hopes that whatever Obi-Wan is planning to say stays in Ventress territory – innocent and without intentions.

“And what other Skywalker specialties are there? I hope one is some sort of cake?”

Bursting out into surprised laughter, Anakin clutches at Padmé, who herself is snorting. Of course Obi-Wan would want him to bake him something. Padmé pats Anakin’s arm and raises her voice into a conspiring whisper, “Anakin already does all the cooking for you, Obi-Wan.”

“Does he now?”

Anakin shakes his head, trying to stifle his laugh. “You wish. That privilege stopped once I hit knighthood.”

“Just stop by his room. Ani’s got himself a contraband little kitchenette, and he’s hardwired to cook at meal times.”

“You need to eat at meal times!”

“A contraband kitchenette?”

“The dining halls have bland food.”

“I would hardly call the food bland. Unless something happened to chief droids’ protocols since I’ve been.”

“I’m from Tatooine; the food at the Temple is terribly bland.”

Padmé locks eyes with Obi-Wan. “Ask him to make you stew. It doesn’t matter what kind; Anakin’s stew is to die for.”

“It’s just stew, Padmé.”

“It’s delicious stew, Ani.” She squeezes his hand. “Take the compliment.”

Anakin shakes his head at her, a pleased smile on his lips. He loves that she enjoys his cooking and is willing to brag about it. It’s nice to have this moment as a couple, sharing each other in front of someone else. Struggling not to kiss Padmé, Anakin squeezes back.

“Thank you, Padmé.” He glances at Obi-Wan. “What kind of cake are you hoping I’m gonna make you?”

Obi-Wan pretends to think about it, fingers wrapping his Padawan braid around them. “Meringue.”

“And what do I get if I make it, huh?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Anakin feels a little embarrassed. It’s normal for him and Obi-Wan – his Obi-Wan – but it’s almost like flirting. Padmé responds to him like this sometimes, and with that thought Anakin feels his cheeks heat. 

The braid is looped tightly around Obi-Wan’s fingers, pulled away from his head. “A very satisfied Padawan?”

“Oh, exactly what he’s always wanted, I’m sure,” says Padmé.

“You gonna clean up the baking ware?”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan grins at him. “So is that a yes?”

Anakin reaches over Padmé to tug at the end of his braid. “Yes, you brat. I’ll make you meringue cake.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan’s smile is way too self satisfied, and Anakin understands exactly why when Obi-Wan’s hand slips down to cover his own, red hair held under their hands. “Thank you, Ani.”

Padmé’s laughter rings loud in Anakin’s ears while his heart pounds. Her hand coming to rest on his back does nothing to calm him, his nickname playing over in his head. Obi-Wan has never called him anything other than his name or referred to him as his Padawan. Anakin doesn’t know whether to let his pleasure at the implied intimacy or his embarrassment from Obi-Wan’s focus win out. He looks at Padmé, who pushes her fingers into his tunics, into his skin.

She’s way too amused by this whole affair for his liking.

“You’re too sweet, Ani.”

Anakin sends a glare at his wife for the way she says his name, but she merely smiles innocently at him and turns to face Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, who looks like a cat about to get cream.

——————

The three of them spend the rest of the evening talking, Obi-Wan dancing dangerously on the edge of too flirty and enamored. Anakin thought that the night would eventually tip into disaster with it, but Obi-Wan never falls into sadness and Padmé never gets more possessive of him than the hand on his back. Genuine smiles stay on both of their faces, and a bubble of warmth from the camaraderie and affection stays with Anakin the whole time on the couch.

Bringing Obi-Wan home was a good idea.

Now, Obi-Wan is settled into the guest room of the apartment, and Padmé is leading him to her room. Anakin smiles softly as the door closes behind them. The lights are soft, their intensity programmed to be influenced by the chronometer. They cast Padmé into subtle blues, and Anakin brings a hand up to sweep her hair over one shoulder.

Padmé lets out a pleased noise as she walks towards her vanity. Anakin follows, his fingers working to unlace the neck of her dress. The green fabric opens even wider, sliding on her shoulders. Anakin draws his fingers softly over her scars from Geonosis, and in the mirror he can see that Padmé closes her eyes with his touch. She takes in a deep breath; Anakin pushes her dress off her. It pools on the floor.

Pressing gentle kisses into her skin, Anakin guides her into her vanity chair. Padmé laughs easily, and she raises an eyebrow at him, affection swimming in her eyes. “Going to remove my makeup, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Let me wash your face after.”

Finding one of the remover bombs, Anakin hums his consent. Padmé closes her eyes again for him, and he rubs the product between his fingers and palm before putting it on her face. The makeup dissolves and wipes away easily enough when Anakin tries tonight. Some of Padmé’s more elaborate looks take multiple rounds of bomb to take off; Naboo makeup is some of the strongest, she says. Smiling at the memory of Padmé’s proud face when she told him the first time, Anakin picks up her little face scrubber and pours purifying product onto it. Padmé giggles when he touches it to her nose, and Anakin keeps it there until she pulls him away with a soft reprimand.

Next, Anakin massages moisturizing cream into her face. Padmé’s face glitters with it until it is absorbed, and Anakin noses at her hairline, his fingers of both hands coming up to slide into her curls. Padmé lets out a huff at him, but she’s radiating pleasure. Pressing a kiss to her temple, Anakin pulls away to smile at her.

“I love you.”

Padmé squeezes his arms. “I love you.”

Anakin merely stays where he is, gazing at his wife happily, drinking her in. He could stand before her like this forever, it feels like; he wants every detail of her committed to memory, her gentle eyes and the way her hair falls and the love for him held in the curl of her mouth.

Padmé follows his own face with her eyes, but she doesn’t linger as long as he does. She tugs on his tunics, and Anakin eagerly kneels before her so she can reach his face. He closes his eyes, the background sounds of Padmé picking product for him soothing. The first one, a cleanser, is cold on his skin. The fingers rubbing it in, however, are warm.

Anakin keeps his eyes closed the whole time Padmé cleans him. Once she’s finished, Anakin smells strongly of apples. Breathing in, Anakin lets a toothy smile take over his face. Padmé tugs on some of his hair, and Anakin knows that she’s wearing a self satisfied little smile. She always does like it when he’s on his knees before her, regardless of the activity.

Nosing her knee, Anakin opens his eyes to find he was right. “Bedtime?”

“Teeth first.”

“Oh, of course.”

Padmé bops him on the nose before he stands up. She’s wearing a smile still, and Anakin slides his hand with hers, entwining their fingers. The two of them make their way into her refresher. Anakin pulls his hidden toothbrush out from the lower cabinet, and he holds it out for Padmé to put paste on. They brush teeth side by side, Anakin leaning to spit and Padmé swishing before following.

Anakin leads them to bed, laughing at Padmé pushing him onto the mattress. It bounces under her weight when she climbs on. She brushes some of his hair out of his face, and he tilts his head up in a preen. The action gets him a fond head shake. Padmé wraps herself around him, settling her head under his chin. It’s not the most comfortable position to try to fall asleep in, but Anakin doesn’t tell her to move; he wants to be just as connected as she does.

It’s been so long since they’ve shared a bed.

“How long do you think it’ll be for the healers to figure out what’s happened?” Padmé whispers. 

Anakin rests his hand on her waist. “I don’t know. I’m not heading back out without Obi-Wan, though.”

“Anakin–”

“Qui-Gon’s dead.”

A soft gasp seems to echo, Anakin thinks, in the dark of night. 

“I…I hadn’t even thought about that. Ani,” Padmé shifts against him. “Is Obi-Wan okay? Their bond–”

“It seems like the bond just isn’t there, not like it’s been snapped; Obi-Wan didn’t seem to be in pain when I first got to him.”

“But he’s not handling it well.”

“He’s…” Anakin hesitates before reminding himself that it’s only Padmé, it’s only her he’s revealing Obi-Wan’s weakness to. “He’s mourning.”

Padmé rubs her head against his chest. “I don’t suppose there’s much I can do since he doesn’t really know me anymore?”

“Tonight was good, I think.” Anakin presses his chin into Padmé’s soft curls. “I think maybe…we just keep doing this. And we’re good.”


End file.
